It’s hard to deal with mental problems. It’s harder to learn to live in a way that I can heal. Hardest of all is seeing how it affects the people I love.
There is more than one way in which I can feel guilty for this, I think the best people who can best exemplify this are my parents and my girlfriend.
As I’ve previously written, I’ve become increasingly independent recently but that’s not our of nowhere. I’ve always been painfully aware that I am the oldest child of 5. My parents never did anything to pressure or shame me in any way, but was always reminded that I had to set a strong example for my siblings.
No one ever told me I was at risk of being actively shamed, and like most young men I wanted nothing more than to make my dad proud, but I’ve had to find a somewhat unconventional way about it.
My dad is the kind of man America has long taken pride in. As a hard-working man in the construction industry, my personality as an anxious book worm was never wonderfully compatible. Meanwhile, my mom was the apple pie dream as the impossibly supportive woman every young person deserves to have. With a strong foundation, it wouldn’t make sense to have a son that is virtually. But I’m not.
I’m human. I make mistakes. I do the best I can. But everything that happens to me negatively, no matter how large or small, feels like I’m bringing shame to the family. As long as I do my best, they don’t care, but sometimes my best doesn’t feel like enough. I know what my best can be. My best wouldn’t cause me pain, and bring my parents stress. So, even if it is not my fault, I can’t tell them anything, even if they could help. And I know that hurts the people who love me. To find out that someone you love wouldn’t let you help them is almost worse than having something wrong with you. So I want to tell the people who care about me, but I don’t want to make anyone embarrassed to be associated with me, or else cause them pain.
That leads to my girlfriend. I love her. I lover her and I am so lucky to be in a committed relationship with here. I don’t actually like calling her my girlfriend because I feel like that doesn’t adequately express the strength of my feelings for her. I’m grateful for her love and support, but I need it from her for the worst reasons.
With my history, I can’t help but have some rough moments triggered. Trusting is hard. Vulnerability is scary. It isn’t easy to open up, but I really can’t help myself with her. She’s the reason I understand the term “falling in love.” It’s scary and fast and sudden and you can’t stop it, but I really don’t want to anyway.
There is so much for me to share with her, and sometimes I can’t control when it comes out. A simple text, a touch of the hand, or just a bit of post traumatic stress can break me to tears, or go off about the horrible things that have happened to me as an explanation of why I’m so messed up and hard to love.
But she sticks around. I may not be a smart man, but I know I’m lucky to be loved. Maybe that’s what’s really so wonderful about love. Deep down, we’re all scared and a feeling little bit unworthy. Regardless, we choose to love. We choose to care for each other. That’s kind of the most amazing thing I can think of.
So maybe I have some problems, and maybe I will make things hard or sad for the people I love and who love me. But that’s why we’re all stuck on this big mud ball.